


The Thin Spy

by BitShifter



Category: The Avengers (1960s British TV)
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-13
Updated: 2007-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitShifter/pseuds/BitShifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steed hunts for clues. Emma sees a ghost.</p><p>The thirteenth in a series of adventures.<br/>Murder and mayhem at an eclectic inventor's mansion are the result of a deadly tontine, and an old enemy resurfaces...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Strange Bequest

**Disclaimer:** Some characters have been borrowed 

**May 1965**

The pallbearers trudged through the morning mist, somberly carrying their load towards the freshly-dug grave. As they deposited the coffin on the black velvet bier, the sunlight caught the embossed nameplate on the mahogany surface. The gold letters glinted as they reflected back three initials: _J.W.S._

Emma Peel brushed away a tear. The funeral had required a closed casket. A high-speed car crash was to blame; it must have been a gruesome death. He always drove too fast. She tried to remember him as she had last seen him. 

He was a tall, thin man. 

A familiar scent lifted her spirits as another mourner shouldered in next to her. From the corner of her eye, she spied a dapper bowler and black wool overcoat. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Peel," Steed said, careful to keep his voice low enough to prevent being overheard. "And how exactly did you know Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe?" 

Emma matched his hushed tone. "He was Peter's commanding officer. How did you know him?" 

Steed leaned towards her ear. "I briefly served under James, back around the time of the War." 

"Crimean or Boer?" 

"This is a solemn occasion, Mrs. Peel," he scolded wryly. "Hardly the time for levity." 

"I'm sorry," she relented. "These last few months, it seems like every connection I've had with the past is disappearing." 

"You still have me," he grinned. 

"You're supposed to be comforting me, Steed, not depressing me," she teased. "If twenty years have passed since you last served under him, how did you learn about his death?" 

"I was in his will," Steed smiled cryptically. "He left me his most valuable possession." 

-oOo-

The two sat at opposite ends of the sofa in Steed's living room. At one end, the sleek auburn hair and leather-clad figure of Mrs. Peel; on the other, a wire-haired fox terrier with a delicately clipped coat. Steed was standing at the liquor cart, mixing a drink, watching in amusement. 

The dog's gaze hung haughtily on the woman across from him, judging. Emma returned the look with equal intensity. For a moment the two just stared at each other. Then the terrier let out a shrill bark. 

"He doesn't like me," Emma said. 

"Nonsense. It just takes him a while to warm up to people." 

"But you don't understand. Dogs _love_ me." 

Another silence. The terrier shifted uneasily on its haunches. 

"What's his name?" she asked. 

"Spumante. Like the wine," Steed offered. 

The dog gave a low growl. 

She frowned. "He won't attack, will he?" 

"You're ten times his size, Mrs. Peel. My money's on you." 

She wrinkled her mouth. "That's not what I meant." 

The dog licked his lips and sat motionless. Emma folded her arms. 

"And this was the Group Captain's most valuable possession?" 

Steed grinned. "What were you expecting?" 

"Gold. Jewels. A vintage Chateau wine. A Sopwith Camel." 

"He's better than a camel," Steed replied. "He can fetch slippers." 

She looked at the terrier and a wicked expression crept across her face. 

"Make him prove it," she said evenly. 

The dog narrowed its eyes back at her. 

Steed broke the tension as he handed her a collar and lead. "Perhaps you should take him for a walk. Get acquainted." 

Emma rose from the couch. "Have you ever had a dog before, Steed?" 

"Several." 

"Then you know you have to be firm." She attached the leash and managed a begrudging heel from the terrier. 

"Be as firm as you like, Mrs. Peel," he said cheerily. "I can think of no one more capable to administer discipline." 

"When I'm done with him," she said as a smile tugged at her mouth, "you'll be next." 

-oOo-

An hour later, Steed looked up as Mrs. Peel re-entered his flat with the dog in tow. He rose to greet her, slipping his hand lightly to her waist. 

"And how is our feisty little fighter?" he asked. 

Emma answered breezily, "I'm doing fine." 

Steed grinned. "I meant the dog." 

"Putting the 'spume' in Spumante," she said with annoyance. 

"Just trying to mark his territory, Mrs. Peel." 

She shook her head. "You men are all alike." 

"Were you terribly firm with him?" 

"He's very contrary. It may take me some time to train him properly." 

Steed nodded. "Perhaps he'll be of use when we investigate the passing of Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe." 

Her interest was immediately piqued. "There's something suspicious about his death?" 

"There's always something suspicious about death," Steed observed. "Especially when the deceased was a member of an investment group called a 'tontine'." 

Emma arched her eyebrows incredulously. "A tontine? I thought those were banned." 

"In England, but not in Italy." 

The terrier jumped onto the sofa in spite of Emma's admonishing finger. He cowered for a moment as she sat down, but made no move to leave. 

"What does the Group Captain have to do with Italy?" Emma asked. Steed removed the leash from the dog's collar. 

"The year was 1943," he began. "Captain Willcombe-Smythe and his crew were operating a Bristol Beaufort torpedo-bomber in the Mediterranean for RAF Coastal Command. They were making photomaps of various points in southern Italy to help the Allies with the Sicily Campaign." 

Steed poured her a cold drink. "While on one of these reconnaissance missions, his plane was shot down over the Italian countryside. One of the four-man crew was killed, and Willcombe-Smythe himself was seriously wounded. That's where things start to get a bit fantastic..." 

"Start?" She took the drink he offered and sipped it gratefully. 

"The locals were sympathizers resistant to the war effort, and they tried to nurse the crew back to health at a rural infirmary. The captain found himself clinging to life under the care of three Americans who were disguised as workers at the clinic, coordinating with the Italian Underground." 

Steed sat on the sofa with the dog between them. "Just as Willcombe-Smythe's about to take a turn for the worse, a strange woman in peasant attire with her face swathed in a bandana comes into the room. She tells him that she has seen the future, and in order to survive, he must make a tontine with everyone involved in his rescue." 

Emma gave him a dubious look. "A Gypsy fortuneteller?" 

"Indeed. So Willcombe-Smythe formed the Tontine with his navigator, his radioman, the three Americans—who were the ambulance driver, the nurse, and the doctor—and the Italian girl at the farm where he crashed. Everyone he had come into contact with during his ordeal, just as the seer had ordered." 

"And what about the Gypsy?" Emma asked. 

Steed suppressed a smile as he noticed Mrs. Peel's hand was now absently fondling the fur on the dog's neck. 

"No one's quite clear on that," he said. "The navigator, radioman, and doctor were the only ones present during her appearance. But she vanished without a trace and was never made part of the Tontine." 

Steed gave the dog a few strokes himself. "The odd thing is," he continued, "the Gypsy might have been clairvoyant. The Captain survived, was eventually promoted to Group Captain, and all of the members of the Tontine have become wildly successful in the two decades since—each one a true rags-to-riches story." 

Emma looked thoughtful. "And that's why you suspect foul play in the Group Captain's death." 

Steed nodded. "It's always easy to murder someone, put them in a car, then rig the accelerator to make it look like a high-speed accident." 

"You make it sound like a game." 

"It is a game. For the highest stakes possible—winner takes all," he declared. "Or, survivor takes all, I should say. The last one alive inherits the wealth of all the others." 

"How much money is involved?" 

"Nearly ten million pounds." 

Emma's eyes widened. She was speechless. 

"That's why Spumi was the only thing mentioned in the Group Captain's will," Steed continued. "The rest of his assets are all ceded to the Tontine." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Spumi?" 

"He has to have a nickname," Steed countered innocently. 

She folded her arms. "I have one for him. How about 'Little—'" 

"Mrs. Peel!" Steed interrupted, covering the dog's ears with his hands. "We don't want to upset him. Dogs can sense hostility." 

"There's only room for one Alpha in our relationship," she said, "and that's me." 

The terrier looked up at her and once again narrowed its eyes. 

"The sooner he learns that, the better," she added, addressing her reply downward. 

-oOo-

The dog was stationed between them in the front seat, both paws propped on the windscreen, his ears flapping back in the breeze. 

"He likes the open road," Emma commented. 

The Bentley was heading northward towards a dim sky with low gray clouds scudding across the horizon. Soon they would need to stop to put the top up. 

"So what did I have to pack my suitcase for?" she asked. "Where are you carting me off to this time?" 

"The home of eccentric Professor Philo Jupiter," Steed answered as he drove. "He was Willcombe-Smythe's radioman when he was shot down. And, of course, another Tontine success story. He came up with an electro-plating process that revolutionized the manufacture of vacuum tubes in the late 40's, making him a millionaire overnight. He also invented a satellite gyro, a subsonic oscillator—even a way to transmit electricity over short distances without wires. All in all, Jupiter holds more than a hundred patents, although he hasn't been too profitable of late." 

"So you think he's the most likely suspect to have offed the Group Captain? What about the others?" 

"Why, they'll all be there, Mrs. Peel. Whenever there's a death, the Tontine must meet to oversee the redistribution of the estate into the various investment accounts." 

"Everyone's getting together in the same place?" she asked in astonishment. "With the survivor getting ten million pounds?" 

Steed smiled. "Just a pleasant weekend in the countryside." 

Emma frowned. "It's going to be like a turkey shoot," she corrected him. "You should have told me, so I could have brought the Beretta for protection. What's our excuse for showing up?" 

"We're supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Charlesworth, the executors of the Group Captain's estate. You're a chartered accountant and I'm an attorney-at-law. Esquire." 

"A solicitor? Since when do you know anything about the law?" 

"I know how to break it. Watch." He gunned the accelerator so that the car went roaring past the speed limit. The terrier hunkered down to avoid flying out of the passenger compartment. Steed slowed down again so that the dog could regain his balance. 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Are they actually real people, or did you just make them up to pretend we're married again?" 

"You question my motives?" 

"Always," she smirked. 

"I just made them up. I'm John Charlesworth, and you're Emma. I thought it would be best to use our real first names, to avoid any slip of the tongue." 

"But we never call each other by our first names." 

Steed snapped his fingers. "I knew there was a flaw in the plan somewhere. You're a clever woman, Mrs. Charlesworth." 

"We sound like an exciting couple. What did we do for our honeymoon—audit the books of some multinational corporation?" 

He smiled. "A couple of legal eagles, that's us." 

"Good thing I brought my fake glasses," she offered. "No one would believe an accountant with perfect eyesight." 

"'Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses'," Steed quoted. 

"Yet another advantage," she affirmed. 

Steed playfully ruffled the fur on the terrier's neck. "We're just a young couple and their dog, hoping to mix business with pleasure." 

"And avoid being murdered in the crossfire," Emma added pointedly. 

He grinned. "That goes without saying." 

-oOo-


	2. The Haunted Castle

**Chapter 2**

The road descended downward until it flanked a river that threatened to overflow its banks. In spite of the high water, the current wasn't that rapid; the land must have been flooded for some time. The Bentley began spraying roostertails from its rear tires as they cut through the puddles. 

"You should have told me to bring my waders," Emma remarked. 

Steed nodded. "This leads to the River Tweed." 

"Is that where Professor Jupiter's estate is?" 

"Yes," he answered. "Located just outside Berwick-Upon-Tweed, on the Scottish border." 

"Aren't they technically still at war with Russia?" 

Steed smiled. "They never signed the Treaty of Paris after the Crimean War, so Reds beware." 

Several burly-looking men were spread across the road ahead. They were passing heavy sandbags one at a time and stacking them along the riverbank. The recent torrential rains must have swollen all of the nearby streams. The men spoke to each other in a thick accent with strange vowels. 

"Can you understand what they're saying?" Emma asked. 

"They're speaking Tweedside," Steed said matter-of-factly. "A combination of Lowland Scots and Northumbrian." 

"Have you been talking to Rita again?" 

"You don't need to be a Ministry librarian to be knowledgeable about linguistics," he proclaimed. 

Emma nodded smugly. "You have been talking to her." 

"Only to acquire some basic information," he said. "I have a trace of Scottish in my ancestry, you know." Steed pulled the Bentley to a stop on a dry stretch of pavement a few feet from the line of men. The terrier sprang from the car and went off to range in the nearby field. 

The sandbaggers paused as they suspiciously eyed the newcomers. Their expressions were stern as they regarded Steed's fine clothes and car, but their demeanor warmed when they saw Emma in her short, black dress. 

Steed greeted them cheerfully. "We're looking for Philo Jupiter's place," he called out. 

At the mention of the word "Jupiter", the men immediately started to put distance between themselves and the strangers. All except one, who seemed to be fascinated with the auburn-haired beauty that accompanied the odd man in the bowler. He addressed his answer to her rather than Steed. 

"And why would ye two be wantin' to go there, Miss?" 

Emma stepped forward with a cordial smile and engaged the young man, happy to hear that his accent more closely matched the Queen's English than she had heard on approach. 

"We need to see him on some legal matters," she explained. "I'm a chartered accountant." 

"Bringin' him more money, eh?" The young man nodded as he effortlessly threw one of the heavy bags. "Jupiter lives in a place he calls _Europa_ ," he added. "Though we just call it 'The Haunted Castle'." 

Emma managed to suppress most of the skepticism in her voice. "A haunted castle?" 

"Well, it's nae really a castle, just a hoose," he explained. "But it dae have a moat." 

She arched her eyebrow. "A moat?" 

"Well, it's nae really a moat. But there is a steep ravine in front wi' only one bridge, and the back of the hoose is all rocks and cliff. So it's a kin' of moat." 

"You sound as if you're afraid of the place." 

"Jupiter be a strange man, and he dae strange things in that castle." The young man looked her over again with approval. "If you need help, lass, just call The Widowmaker Pub in town, and me 'n' the lads'll come to your rescue." 

"With pitchforks and torches?" she teased. 

He smiled back. "You turn richt a mile up the road. You can't miss it," he declared. "Though you'll probably wish you had." 

Emma thanked him as she returned to the car where Steed respectfully waited, impressed by her skill communicating with the locals. A hundred feet away, the terrier was digging furiously in pursuit of some underground denizen. 

"Spumante," she called. "Come here." 

The dog looked up from his excavation for a moment, then ignored her as he dug back in. Emma bristled and made a move, but Steed halted her with a light touch on the arm. He gave a curt whistle and tapped the handle of the umbrella against the edge of the windscreen. The dog immediately ceased mining operations and ran back to the Bentley. Emma snorted. 

"You two are in this together," she said accusingly. "Why does he obey you, and not me?" 

"Both he and I share a common master." Seeing her confusion, he added, "That would be you, Mrs. Peel." 

"Charlesworth," she corrected with a smirk. "If I'm the master, suppose I drive and you navigate for a while." 

"Of course," Steed said graciously. He surrendered the right-hand seat to her and moved to the left. The dog took up its usual station between them. 

Emma was concentrating on keeping the Bentley from foundering in the road ponds, so she didn't see the mansion when it first came into view. But Steed's startled reaction caused her to look up, and she nearly swerved off the road at the sight that greeted her. 

There, nestled among the asymmetric, twisted trees, stood a building born of a Victorian fantasy—or nightmare. The house consisted of wrought iron framework supporting various stretches of stone and brick; high, narrow windows; and turrets with massive cupolas clad in copper, glinting in the fading sun. A series of iron bars spanned the corners, sometimes covering windows, sometimes not. A steep, craggy ravine filled with water was crossed by an ancient wooden plank bridge. A pair of stone lions stood guard. 

"That's a strange hoose," Emma remarked. 

"I see what he meant about the moat," Steed said. "The water's a bit high." 

"It could never flood the bridge, though," she observed. "The deck is several feet above the access road." 

"Doesn't make me any more comfortable about the place." 

The wood boards rattled as the Bentley trundled across. The cars already parked out front indicated that they were probably the last to arrive. Emma pulled the Bentley in next to a Rolls, a Mercedes, a Jaguar, an Aston Martin, and a red '49 Ferrari Barchetta. 

"I hope we're not underdressed," she mused. 

"A Charlesworth, underdressed?" Steed feigned astonishment. "Perish the thought. No wife of mine will appear in anything less than the best." He reached under the back seat blanket and pulled out the fur stole he had given her in Paris. From a pocket, he produced the earrings he had given her after their Alpine adventure. 

"Have you been rummaging around in my flat?" she fired back. 

"That reminds me—we need to have a talk. Your security precautions are most inadequate." 

"How dare you—!" 

Steed interrupted her by extending a small jewelry case. "Diamonds are a girl's best friend," he smiled, flipping the top open to reveal a diamond-encrusted necklace. 

"If you think you can appease me with a gift—" 

"Actually, it's just a loan, through the Ministry. It's worth more than ten thousand pounds." 

"Then I shall resist throwing it into the moat for the Queen's sake, even though you deserve it." She examined the necklace, begrudgingly impressed. "As the Group Captain's legal team, won't this ostentatious show of wealth be suspicious?" 

"To the contrary; it's expected. We wouldn't be considered worthy in the eyes of the Tontine unless we'd managed to provide for ourselves at our benefactor's expense." 

Emma donned the finery while still fuming at Steed's invasion of her privacy. Only then did she notice that a man was watching them, casually leaning against a carved-stone sign at the front of the house. He was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie. With one hand, he gestured to the engraved title, EUROPA. 

"Eccentric sort of chap, that's our Philo," he began. 

Steed leaned over to Emma and whispered in her ear, "That's Sturgis, the navigator." 

The man stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Walt Sturgis. You two must be the Group Captain's legal people." 

"John and Emma Charlesworth," Steed introduced. 

"You were saying something about our host?" Emma prompted as she attached the leash to the terrier. 

"Jupiter's an amateur astronomer. Every room in the house is named after a different heavenly body. Of course, the house itself is named after a moon of Jupiter. Are you familiar with the other people here?" 

"I've seen their pictures during my preparation," Steed said pleasantly. 

"So you recognized me before I told you who I was," Sturgis said with a grin. "I'm glad to see you two are efficient and professional. Let me show you to the Planetary Parlor." 

The main hall was eclectically furnished, as one might expect from a millionaire, but even more unconventional was the design of the house itself. The rooms were all odd shapes and sizes; none of them square, with quite a few pentagons and octagons. The effect was disorienting—one never knew where to expect a wall or corner to pop up. 

A well-dressed butler attended to Sturgis and the two new arrivals. The sound of conversation wafted in from the room at the end of the corridor. 

"Where is our vaunted host?" Steed asked. 

"Jupiter's nowhere to be found," Sturgis explained. "The butler just returned from a two week vacation, and had instructions to cater to our every need until his master arrived." The butler led them down the hall to a large doorway. The room it opened into was filled with mahogany furniture, ornate tapestries, wood-and-brass scientific instruments, and two walls with floor-to-ceiling windows. Sturgis motioned them inside. "This is the Planetary Parlor," he said simply. 

Steed and Emma held back at the door, partially hidden from view. The guests were gathered loosely around a large table or milling at the windows, munching on hors d'oeuvres. Sturgis went inside and greeted a fair-haired man who was dressed in that peculiar way that wealthy Americans dress, best described as "expensive casual." Steed put his arm forward to prevent Emma from entering and leaned close enough to whisper. 

"That's one of the Americans, James Fenimore. He was the ambulance driver in Italy that carted Willcombe-Smythe to the hospital." 

"How did he get to be so rich?" she inquired in a low voice. 

"He's a cooper." 

"James Fenimore, the cooper? Surely you jest." 

"Assuredly not. His father was a carpenter. Fenimore took over the family business and focused entirely on the transportation industry. Even though they don't make ships out of wood anymore, there's still an enormous demand for barrels. His company supplies most of the world's 'wooden shipping containers.' He's become a bit of a magnate." 

Fenimore turned to address an attractive younger woman in a low-cut dress. She had an olive complexion and dark, sultry eyes; full lips and a complement of curves. She was also wearing a banker's ransom in jewels. 

"Then there's the beautiful Isis Diora...," Steed remarked distractedly. 

"Is that a name, or an anagram?" Emma teased. 

"She's an actress, in those foreign films. You know, like 'The Ambassador's Daughter' and 'The Sheik's Lover'." 

"Is that her real name?" 

"I believe it's actually Isabella Dinorelli," he offered. "She was the young Italian girl who found the crashed Beaufort on her family farm." 

Emma scanned the room. Her eyes fastened on a tall woman in her mid-40's who was conservatively dressed in a wool skirt and white starched blouse. A few streaks of gray marked her hair, and in spite of her wealth, she had made no effort to cover them up with dye. "Is that our American nurse?" she asked. 

Steed nodded. "Mary Brant, now a British citizen. She became the private nurse to Prime Minister Attlee after the war. When National Health took effect in '48, she was appointed as head administrator of the General Nursing Council. Word has it that she's nursed at Chartwell House in Kent, as well." 

"To Churchill?" 

"So it's said." 

Steed indicated a white-haired man in his late 50's who was mixing a drink at the bar. He wore a three-piece suit with a gold watch chain. 

"That's Doc Henderson. Still makes his home in America." 

"And how did he become a millionaire?" 

"Polio vaccine. He invested in a pharmaceutical firm that's now the world's largest supplier." 

"And what about the man who showed us in—Sturgis?" 

"The RAF navigator-bombardier, turned banker. Actually gives advice to the Chancellor of the Exchequer." 

"And the butler?" 

Steed smiled. "As far as I know, just a butler." 

They stepped out of the hallway into the main room. Everyone stopped talking when they saw the newcomers. Steed approached the table and cleared his throat. 

"I'm John Charlesworth, and this is my wife, Emma," he announced glibly. "We're the executors for the Group Captain's estate." He gestured to the dog as it fought against Emma's efforts at control. "The rodent-finder is Spumante." 

The members of the assembled group gave them a cursory once-over before returning to their snacking. Having learned that the strangers were merely functionaries of the late Group Captain, they had dismissed them as rating not much higher than the butler. 

"Warm reception," Emma commented aside to Steed. 

"All those years living under the Tontine have made them wary," he observed. 

"Then why don't they just dissolve it?" 

"Early on, they were superstitious," he explained in a low voice. "Nobody wanted to break the contract, afraid that it might spoil the sudden luck and success they were all experiencing. Now, they could never get unanimous agreement to break it, since the poorer members are hoping to inherit the wealth of the richer." 

The butler cleared away the used plates as the assembled crowd drifted towards the bar. The woman that Steed had identified as the Italian farm girl rose from the table and approached him, moving her hips sinuously. 

"You may recognize me," she said to them both. "I'm Isis Diora, the film star." 

Her voice had a musical quality. Unconsciously, her fingers caressed a large diamond pendant that hung in her perfectly-formed cleavage. She transfixed Steed with her dark eyes in an expression of undisguised lust. 

"What a magnificent animal," she commented. 

Emma wasn't at all sure that she was referring to the dog. "His name's Spumi." 

"Spoomy?" Miss Diora asked. 

"Yes, that's right." 

The terrier bristled at the end of the leash. 

"You don't seem to have your pet well-trained, Mrs. Charlesworth," she countered, addressing Emma but staring directly at Steed. "A headstrong creature like this will try to stray." 

Emma noticed the locked gazes between Steed and Isis. "If he strays too much," she remarked tersely, "I can always have him fixed." 

Steed extended his hand to the olive-skinned goddess. "Call me John. I've seen several of your pictures," he added charmingly, "but they didn't do justice to your true beauty." He cast a sideways glance and saw Emma's eyes narrow as he kissed Miss Diora's hand. 

"I've been looking for someone like you to handle my affairs, John," Isis said. "Legally speaking, of course." 

"I'm afraid Mr. Charlesworth's docket is full right now," Emma interposed. "But I'm available. Perhaps you could use the services of a good accountant," she added. 

"My, no! All of them are thieves, out to embezzle my riches," Miss Diora said cattily. "Of course, I'm sure your honesty is above reproach, Mrs. Charlesworth." 

Fenimore stood up and tapped on his water glass with a spoon. "Since Willcombe-Smythe's people are here," he began, "we can have the report on the Group Captain's estate." 

Emma looked confused as Steed thrust a file folder into her hands and relieved her of the dog's leash. 

"Here," he said smoothly. "Sound authoritative." 

She shot a glare at him, but did her best to act as if nothing was wrong. Emma walked carefully to the head of the table and opened the folder. She moved her glasses up on her nose, stalling for time as she inspected the top page. One didn't need to be a chartered accountant to understand its content. Emma cleared her throat. 

"At the last accounting, after paying all outstanding debts, James Willcombe-Smythe's estate was worth twenty thousand pounds," she announced. 

Emma felt five pairs of eyes burning a hole in her. She briefly considered aiming a kick at Steed's ankle the next time he got close. 

"That's all?" Isis Diora asked. 

"Blighter," spat Fenimore. "He's squandered it all, knowing he probably didn't have any chance of surviving the rest of us." 

Steed had a cryptic smile. "Well, he certainly didn't have a chance of surviving _one_ of you." 

Doctor Henderson looked thoughtful. "Just what are you insinuating?" 

"I've been in contact with the Solicitor General. I'm not satisfied that the Group Captain's death was an accident," Steed said snootily. "I've requested a full investigation into the matter. The assets of Willcombe-Smythe's estate, along with all accounts held by the Tontine, will be frozen in escrow pending the outcome." 

Fenimore snorted. "We'll soon see about this," he fired back. "You can't be the only two-bit ambulance-chaser who can execute a will. I have some friends in high places who'll have your law license pulled in an instant, Charlesworth." The blonde-haired man stalked to the sideboard and angrily jerked the phone from its cradle. A puzzled expression crossed his face as he clicked the handset several times. 

"That's strange," he said. "The phone's out." 

Emma had wandered over to one of the enormous Palladian windows that looked out over the craggy moat. 

"More importantly," she added in dismay, "so is the bridge." 

-oOo-


	3. So It Begins

**Chapter 3**

The entire group crowded around Emma at the window. The only obvious means of crossing the moat had disappeared entirely, presumably beneath the water. 

Fenimore frowned. "The constant flooding here must have undermined the supports." 

"So we're trapped, then?" Mary Brant asked innocently. 

"How's Jupiter going to get across when he returns home?" Sturgis added. 

Doc Henderson sipped on his drink. "Perhaps he's already here." 

"What, in hiding?" Nurse Brant asked. "Why would he do that?" 

"To pick us off, one by one," Isis Diora suggested in her exotic accent. 

"He must have been planning this for a long time, waiting for the first death in the Tontine to occur," Fenimore offered. He ran his hand through his blonde hair. "I knew this whole contract was a lousy idea." 

"We were all poor, caught up in a war with no end in sight," Doc Henderson reminded them. "Working behind the back of a Fascist dictator who would execute any one of us on the spot for espionage—all except Major Sturgis, here. He might have survived as a prisoner of war." He sipped his drink again. "The Tontine gave us something to hope for in a jet-black future." 

"What, to be murdered in our beds?" Isis objected. 

"I'm sure we'll be safe if we stick together," Nurse Brant ventured. 

"There are two of us here whose trustworthiness has yet to be determined," Fenimore said, suspiciously eying Steed and Emma. "What do we really know about the Charlesworths? They could be executioners hired by one of us. While we 'stick together', they could eliminate us one at a time, and we wouldn't know their employer until it's too late." 

"We work for the Group Captain," Steed proclaimed dryly. 

Emma arched her eyebrow at Steed. He had spoken that just like a person who was lying. What was his game? 

"They seem harmless to me," Nurse Brant countered. 

Doc Henderson examined the lines of Steed's face. "You look old enough to have been in the War, Mr. Charlesworth. Military training could be useful for an assassin." 

"The same applies to Jupiter and Major Sturgis," Steed said with a pleasant smile. 

"All this talk of killing, and we haven't even determined that we're trapped here," Fenimore declared. "I'm going to scout around the outside of the house, see if there's any other way to cross the moat." 

"An excellent idea," Sturgis agreed. "We need to know where we stand. I'll go with you." 

"John, where's the dog?" Emma asked. 

Steed failed to react to the strange name for a second, then answered with a start, "I left the leash looped over the arm of that chair." 

"Then he's run off," she asserted. "I'll have to go search for him." 

"Of course, darling." 

Doc Henderson set down his drink. "Perhaps Nurse Brant would like to get situated in a room," he said politely as he turned to his one-time assistant. "We'll check with the butler and see what Jupiter has fixed us up with for the night." 

A tacit agreement seemed to have been reached that everyone would be more comfortable somewhere other than the Planetary Parlor. The various groups all exited on their quests. Miss Diora smiled at Steed. 

"That just leaves us." She sat down in a thickly upholstered chair near the bar, brazenly hiked up her dress, and crossed her legs. "Can you make a brandy stinger, Mr. Charlesworth?" 

Steed smiled back at her. "Guaranteed to make you buzz." He went behind the bar and searched out the crème de menthe. 

"I'm surprised that your wife left you alone with me," Isis continued. "She seemed quite possessive." 

"If there's anyone she has stronger feelings about than me," he remarked wryly, "it's the dog." Steed finished his mixing and handed her the drink. "Aren't you afraid I might have slipped something in it? I could be a killer, according to Fenimore." 

"Mr. Fenimore is not the judge of men that I am," she proclaimed. "You aren't what you seem to be, but you mean no harm. Of that I am certain." 

"Do you think you're in any danger from the others?" 

"Well, I _am_ the outsider here. The doctor, the nurse and Fenimore all worked together for the Underground; and Jupiter, Sturgis, and the Group Captain were in the RAF. It's hard for me to trust any of them," Isis observed. She smiled sexily as she leaned over to look into his eyes. "But I trust you." 

Steed smiled back at her guilelessly. "So does my wife." 

-oOo-

Emma accompanied Doc Henderson and Nurse Brant as they sought out the butler. 

"I think your husband is quite charming, Mrs. Charlesworth," Mary Brant said. "I don't blame him for wanting an investigation into the Group Captain's death. He's only doing what is reasonable." 

"Yes," Doc Henderson reluctantly agreed. "We don't want the Tontine to deteriorate into murder and mayhem. Luckily, we're all civilized people—and friends—so I'm sure your husband's suspicions are unfounded." 

The butler was standing dutifully at the front door as the group approached. Doc Henderson accosted him. 

"I assume that Jupiter made accommodations for us to spend the night, even before we became trapped?" he asked. 

"Of course, sir. I'll show you to your rooms immediately." He turned to Emma. "Can I help you, Ma'am?" 

"I'm looking for a dog. His name is Spumante." 

"I saw him when you came in, Ma'am. A splendid animal. What kind is he?" 

"He's a wire-haired terror." 

"Er—don't you mean terrier, Ma'am?" 

"I stand by my original statement," she declared. "Could he have escaped outside? He likes to dig." 

The butler nodded. "There's a garden out back. Through those open doors." 

Emma thanked him as he led the others away down the corridor. She stepped out onto a tile patio with a stone archway on the opposite side. 

The garden was filled with wrought iron lampposts, low metal fencing, and bronze statues. Like everything at Europa, it had a strange, industrial, manufactured air about it. The plants were precisely chosen to form symmetric plots along the earthen paths. She jumped in startlement at what looked like a brown snake slipping through the grass; then recognized it as the dog's leash. 

"Spumi!" she called. Sure enough, the dog was digging around the base of one of the lampposts. 

"Have you found something?" Emma asked rhetorically. The terrier looked up at her with soil smudged across his muzzle. She examined the hole he had dug beneath the lamppost. Nothing. Probably chasing a rabbit. 

"Some detective dog you're turning out to be." 

-oOo-

Evening had fallen outside the barred windows of Europa. The guests had resigned themselves to having no immediate way across the moat and were preparing to spend the night nervously barricaded in their individual rooms. The butler led Emma and Steed down a plushly carpeted hallway to a room with a brass plaque marked ARIEL. 

"The Ariel Suite, Mr. and Mrs. Charlesworth," he announced as he opened the door and handed over the key. As soon as the butler left, Emma turned to Steed with a raised eyebrow. 

"Are you planning to sleep here?" she asked. 

"We _are_ married." 

"It doesn't mean that you can't have your own space," she chided. "Perhaps you should look for a door marked PAN." 

"Now, now, Mrs. Charlesworth; we mustn't spoil the illusion of conjugal bliss." Steed held his arms out. "Would you like me to carry you across the threshold?" 

"I'm sufficiently ambulatory, thank you," Emma smirked. Any misgivings she might have had about sharing the room vanished when she saw the bed. The mattress was nearly fifteen feet wide. Emma gestured to it as she looked at Steed. 

"You could fit the entire Tontine in that thing," she remarked. 

"Jupiter certainly likes to do things in a big way," he replied. "I would offer to sleep on the floor, but I'll actually be farther away from you if I stay on the bed." 

Emma unpacked her things and started stowing them in an expensive Chippendale dresser. She opened the bottom drawer and put in her leathers; one never knew when those might be needed. When she turned back around, she was dismayed to see that the dog had hopped on top of them and had curled up in this makeshift bed. Emma growled audibly. 

"He's on my leathers!" 

Steed smiled. "He just wants to get under your skin, Mrs. Peel." 

"He's already succeeded in ways you can only imagine," she muttered. "Perhaps we should send him to the doghouse. Did you see any doors marked SIRIUS?" 

"I'm sure he'll be more than happy to sleep on the floor," Steed said cheerily, giving a short whistle. The dog immediately came to him and lay down at his feet. 

"See?" Steed parried. Emma wrinkled her mouth. 

"Very well; he's your responsibility until morning," she announced. "Particularly if he wants a trip outside." 

"If you need anything during the night," Steed offered wryly, "just send a message to the other side of the bed using the semaphore." 

-oOo-

Emma awoke to the warmth of contact across her lower abdomen. Had Steed drifted over from his side of the bed? She thought that it had happened once before, when they were posing as a married couple in Paris. He had spooned her in bed as they slept. In retrospect, she had concluded it must have been a dream. But if it were happening again... 

She flung her arm onto the bed beside her, groping for Steed's chest. The sheets were empty. Just then, the clouds scudding past the window parted and a ray of moonlight came through the pane. Emma looked below her waist and let out a startled cry. Two glowing eyes and a muzzle that bore a distinctive grin stared back at her. The little terror had found a new sleeping arrangement, using her as a pillow. 

"Steed! It's in bed with us!" 

From the far side of the bed, Steed stirred groggily from his sleep. He rolled over close and took one look at the terrier. 

"See?" he teased. "I told you he'd take a liking to you." 

-oOo-

Steed rose early the next morning and fastidiously prepared to meet the day, using the luxurious bathroom adjoining the main suite. He dressed for the outdoors in a wool sweater and slacks. Mrs. Peel was still sleeping peacefully on the far side of the bed, a flip of auburn hair strewn casually across her face. He grinned when he saw that the terrier was stretched out next to her. They were alike in many ways—brave, loyal, and quite headstrong. 

After waking in the middle of the night, Mrs. Peel had sternly exiled the dog back to the floor; but of course, it had crept back up onto the bed once she had nodded off. 

Steed made a clicking sound with his mouth. "Come on, boy," he urged. The dog jumped to his feet, then staggered groggily for a half second before the instant canine adrenaline kicked in. 

The dog followed him at heel down to the first floor and out the front door. Steed had stopped several times along the way, checking the corridors for any signs of life. It appeared he was the first to rise. 

He didn't bother with a leash, allowing the dog to range far afield in the dew-covered grass. Steed followed at a half-pace, carefully examining the outside of Europa. He had a sneaking suspicion that the enigmatic Philo Jupiter wasn't absent at all, but was hiding somewhere on the premises, waiting for the opportunity to dispatch the others. 

A sudden sharp bark disturbed his reverie. Steed walked briskly towards the sound, surprised to see the terrier picking his way down the bank of the ravine that served as moat. The dog had somehow managed to find a small footpath down to the water's edge. 

A loud splash carried across the distance, and Steed could see that the dog had jumped in and was swimming tenaciously towards the center of the channel. A shape was floating in the water, and the terrier had found a rope snaking across the surface nearby. Clenching the rope in his teeth, the dog swam back for shore, the inert form drifting behind him at a leisurely pace. 

Steed had arrived at the spot where the water met the craggy rocks, and he took the cord that the terrier enthusiastically surrendered. He began reeling it in. It was tied to a body, around the waist. The shirt was in tatters, and an angry black mark was on the back, between the shoulder blades. 

It looked like the man had attempted to escape in the night. After climbing down the side of the ravine, he must have drowned trying to swim the moat. Steed turned the body over and could see the white hair that had been dirtied in the water. It was Doctor Henderson. 

The impatient sound of a throat clearing echoed along the bank. Steed turned to see Mrs. Peel standing above him, her arms crossed in aggravation. She was now dressed in character, with a wool skirt, prim blouse, and her tortoise-shell glasses. 

"I knew that you two were in 'cahoots'," she accused, looking down at the terrier who had once again innocently taken up the rope in his mouth. 

Steed recovered smoothly. "We were just out for a morning constitutional and didn't want to wake you, Mrs. Peel." 

"A likely story," Emma answered. Steed said nothing, just stepped to one side to allow her to see the corpse. 

"And so it begins," she commented somberly. "Where did you find him?" 

"In the moat. It appears that he may have drowned, apart from this black discoloration on his back." 

She carefully picked her way down the footpath and leaned over the victim. "It almost looks charred." 

"As if someone were trying to brand a mark on him," Steed observed. 

"While he was out for a swim?" she asked doubtfully. 

"Dr. Henderson was not a young man," Steed remarked. "Hard to believe he would attempt such a physical challenge." 

"Perhaps he didn't," Emma offered. She pointed to a turret on the corner of the house. "Europa overhangs the moat less than a hundred feet away. Someone could have killed him, then used the rope to lower the body from that window. That's why it's still tied around his waist." 

"If they did that, why not weight the body so it would never be found?" he asked. 

"Maybe someone wanted us to find it," she mused. 

Steed looked thoughtful. "It's also common to tie a rope around your waist while swimming, so that it doesn't interfere with your arms or legs. Perhaps the good doctor thought he could lasso one of those outcroppings and climb up the other side. Maybe he was desperate to get away, thinking his life was in danger." 

Emma looked down at the body. 

"It was," she remarked grimly. 

-oOo-


	4. The Floating Ghost

**Chapter 4**

The remaining four members of the Tontine had gathered in the room labeled MARS. Steed had entered hoping to find an armory; instead, it was a museum of historical weapons, most of them ill-suited for defense. Emma came over and leaned close to him. 

"Has anyone seen Jupiter?" she asked. 

Steed shook his head. He gestured to the walls. "Plenty of weapons," he observed, "if you have a taste for bludgeoning." Emma opened up a display case and Steed took out an elaborate medieval iron mace. He hefted it in his right hand. "Ghastly," he commented. 

Sturgis stepped forward to address the others. "Damn that Jupiter," he began. "This is his work, I'll wager." 

"Unless Doc Henderson learned something about Mr. Charlesworth," Fenimore said, looking at Steed. "Interesting that you found the body. Where were you last night?" 

Steed smiled. "In bed with my wife, of course." 

"Not the best of alibis, since you could be in this together," Fenimore continued. "The Doctor was the only person with sufficient medical training to save the rest of us, should any assassination attempts fall short." 

Mary Brant cleared her throat. "As a nurse, I have some knowledge of medicine." 

"Of course," Fenimore said petulantly, "I didn't mean to imply—" 

"Did anyone here bring a gun?" Steed asked suddenly. 

No one said anything. Fenimore was cool as he responded, "Why do you ask?" 

"For protection," Steed answered. 

Everyone remained silent. The eyes of the gathered Tontine members darted guiltily from side to side, watching one another with suspicion. Each one subtly shifted his or her stance, telegraphing to Steed the location of a concealed firearm. Even Nurse Brant instinctively hugged her handbag closer. 

"I see," Steed said glibly. "Does anyone _not_ have a gun?" 

"I don't have one," Emma chimed in. 

Steed wryly handed her the armored club he held. "We shall have to try to defend ourselves as best we can." 

"I vote that we search for Jupiter," Isis Diora spoke up. "As long as he's loose, none of us can feel safe, even in our beds. This entire house could be rigged with deathtraps." 

Fenimore nodded. "I agree; we should form search parties and comb the house and grounds—even if we don't find Jupiter, we might find the safest place to hole up. I'll partner with Miss Diora. Sturgis can go with Nurse Brant. The Charlesworths can go together," he suggested. "I don't think it wise that any of us be left alone with the Group Captain's 'legal team' until we get to the bottom of this." 

Steed inclined his head. "It's good to be trusted," he said pleasantly. 

As the guests left the room, each could be seen discreetly repositioning a weapon for easier access. Steed turned and looked at Emma. Without a word, she went back to the display case, reached in, and slipped a long-bladed hunting knife into her skirt pocket. 

-oOo-

The terrier was straining at the end of the leash, leading Steed and Emma up to the third floor. 

"Let's find the window that overhangs the spot where we found the Doctor's body," Emma suggested. 

Steed nodded. "I don't mean to startle you," he said, "but that's exactly where the dog seems to be headed." 

Emma arched an eyebrow. Perhaps Spumi was able to pick up on the killer's scent, after all. Then she shook her head; the dog couldn't possibly distinguish between which smells were the killer's and which belonged to the innocent guests. 

They came to the outside of a room marked VENUS. The door was weatherstripped for a moisture-proof seal. When they pushed inside, they found the interior was warm and humid. Every square inch of the floor and the waist-high shelving was occupied by plants—most of them heavily leaved, many covered with flowers. The entire ceiling was made of glass. The Venus Room was a greenhouse. 

"Spumi," Emma admonished the dog. "You were just outside." 

The terrier looked back at her guiltily from the plant he had been sniffing, then wandered off between the rows. Steed was examining the line of plants that led to the room's three large windows. 

"Broken leaves and stems here," he said, "and here. Could be the signs of someone dragging a body." 

"Or maybe just a clumsy gardener," she mused. "Who do you think takes care of this conservatory, anyway? The butler?" 

Steed had walked over to the window and turned the handle. It swung open as if it had been recently oiled. 

"One of the handful of windows in Europa that doesn't have bars," he observed, "and easy to open. I believe that Doc Henderson's death was a murder." 

"And we're trapped here with the killer," Emma added. "Too bad I can't contact The Widowmaker Pub. Perhaps my Tweedside admirer would come to rescue me in a rowboat." 

"I wouldn't leave now if I could," Steed declared. "Now we have two murders to investigate, assuming the Group Captain's death was no accident." 

The hallways of Europa echoed with the sound of a woman's loud, piercing scream. 

"Anyone for three?" Emma offered. 

-oOo-

Steed and Emma ran down to the first floor. Mary Brant was standing in the main hall, trembling. 

"Sturgis is in the garden," she cried. "He looks... horrible." 

"Is he dead?" Emma asked. 

"I don't know," Nurse Brant answered meekly. "I was afraid to go near, in case it was a deathtrap." 

Steed ran through the open patio doors towards the figure that was lying prone on the stone path. A quick check of the body revealed it was too late. It bore the same black discoloration on the back as Doctor Henderson's. 

"What happened?" Steed asked. 

"He was standing over there," Nurse Brant said, pointing to the nearby lamppost. "I heard a strange noise from the house. I went inside for a minute, and when I returned, he was lying there." 

Steed took Emma aside after closely examining the body. "Same mark on the back," he said in a low voice. "Certainly no coincidence. Some sort of radiation burn?" 

"Too bad the Doctor can't come back to life to give us his opinion," Emma remarked. 

"I was just thinking the same thing," Steed said. "It's clear that Henderson didn't drown in any accident. Someone must have snuck up behind him, as well. He was killed first so he couldn't give us any advice on the future corpses." 

"Careful," she teased grimly. "You're talking about us. What do you think caused that mark?" 

"Intense heat of some sort," he offered. "I suppose Jupiter could have walloped them both with a glowing flatiron, but that hardly seems a reliable method for murder." 

"We'd better gather the others," she sighed. "And prepare to be suspects numbers one and two again." 

-oOo-

Fenimore had come running downstairs to join them in the Planetary Parlor. He instinctively went to comfort Mary Brant, then glared at the Charlesworths. 

Steed gestured to the body in the garden. "Sturgis is dead," he announced. 

"Where were you when it happened?" Fenimore accused predictably. 

"I was with Emma, searching the upstairs conservatory," Steed answered, careful to use the correct name for his wife. 

Fenimore smiled without warmth. "Amazing how often you two have to serve as each other's alibi." 

"I did see them coming down the stairs," Nurse Brant offered. 

"Doesn't prove they weren't downstairs when it happened, then ran back upstairs to appear innocent," Fenimore objected. "We were foolish to split up in the search for Jupiter. It just made it easier for someone to pick us off." He looked at Steed and Emma. "You two, perhaps?" 

"Speaking of divide and conquer," Steed retorted sternly, "where's Miss Diora? She was with you." 

"I came down when I heard the scream. She's still searching the upstairs." 

Steed's eyes flashed with anger. "You shouldn't have left her alone." 

A loud, wooden bang came from upstairs. A second later, Isis Diora came running down in a panic. 

"See?" Fenimore countered. "She's fine." He caught her as she reached the landing. "Have you found something?" he asked. 

"The... the attic," she stammered. Then she saw the body through the garden doors. "What happened?" 

"Someone got Sturgis", Fenimore replied. 

The young Italian actress was visibly shaken by the news. "Do you think it was Jupiter?" 

"We _are_ starting to run out of suspects," Steed interposed. "What frightened you upstairs?" 

Isis swallowed once. "There are ghosts in the attic," she announced. 

The assembled group was silent for a moment. 

"Ghosts," Emma repeated. "As in—? Spectral phantasms? Disembodied souls? Animated corpses?" 

"Sheets," Isis countered tersely. "Sheets that fly." 

"Ah." Emma gave Steed an amused look. "I think I should go up there and take a look for myself." 

Steed moved close and spoke under his breath. "You'll be needing wire cutters, then?" 

"Most likely." 

"Take the dog with you." 

"What on earth for?" 

"Dogs can see ghosts." 

She gave him a patronizing expression. "They can?" 

"Yes. When you see him looking at something that isn't there, kneel down behind him and look between his ears at the exact same spot. Then you'll see the ghost." 

"You need to write all of these things down, in a book. 'The Wisdom of Steed'." 

"Book? It would need to be a multi-volume encyclopedia." 

"Did I say book? Perhaps I meant 'pamphlet'," she smirked. "Come on, Spumante." Emma and the dog snaked past Isis on their way up to the attic. 

"Be careful," Mary Brant called after her. "It may be a trap." 

-oOo-

Emma stood outside a room at the very top of the main staircase. The steps had narrowed to a small wooden trestle at this point, and there was only one door at this level, bearing simply a brass plaque reading HELIOS. 

Strange name, she thought. While the attic was undoubtedly closer to the sun than any other room in the house, it should also be darker. To her surprise, she opened the door to find a room well-lit with skylights, although a thick fog of dust motes could be seen dancing in the beams that shone through the glass. Several large pieces of furniture were being stored here, covered with sheets so threadbare as to be thin as gossamer. Miss Diora's "ghosts", no doubt. 

The terrier took a few steps into the room, then froze in place. He barked three times and executed a perfect backflip. 

Emma raised her eyebrows. "What has Steed been feeding you?" 

The dog remained motionless, staring fixedly at the opposite wall of the room. 

"Do you see any ghosts?" she asked rhetorically. The terrier took another cautious step forward, his gaze intense and unyielding. 

With a skeptical sigh, Emma knelt down and peered between his ears at the exact same spot. 

It was then that she saw all of the thin sheets in the room rise from the furniture and hover in mid-air before slowly moving towards her. 

-oOo-

Steed was in the garden examining the spot where Sturgis had died. Minutes earlier, Fenimore had helped him carry the body into a spare room where they had stored Doc Henderson's. Decomposition would eventually be a problem, but at the speed that the killer was working, the point might be moot. 

A large iron lamppost was nearby. There certainly was an unusual amount of metal in the area, and iron was a good conductor of heat. Steed had suggested to Mrs. Peel that the black marks were burns. He tried to imagine a giant furnace in the sub-basement of the house, heating all of the metal in the garden to a red-hot temperature. Then the killer would run into the garden and push his victim into a lamppost, ostensibly grilling his spinal cord? One could hardly think of a less efficient way to kill someone—plus, it relied heavily on the element of surprise. 

But why the same spot, on the back, between the shoulders? Steed tried to imitate Sturgis standing in the garden. He adopted the exact same stance and leaned back towards the lamppost. It didn't even touch the right spot on his body. 

-oOo-

Emma watched as the ghostly shapes floated eerily towards her. No wires were visible. She felt her hair stand on end. Then she looked down at the dog. His hair was standing on end, too. The terrier turned to look back at her over his shoulder. The fur on the end of his muzzle was pointing straight upward in two tufts, like a heavily waxed French moustache. 

"You look ridiculous," she teased absently. The dog returned his focus to the opposite wall. Then Emma heard it: a faint whirring sound, coming from behind the paneling. 

She crept over to the wall and used the hunting knife to pry up a section at eye level. She looked inside the wall and experienced a sensation of vertigo before she realized that she was stationary. Something was moving past quickly, like an elevator rushing by. Emma poked the tip of the blade in, and it made a squealing noise. The moving surface deflected inward—it was some sort of belt. She tried to cut it, but the belt was moving too fast, and it flexed away from the sharp edge. Emma turned to address the dog. 

"Static electricity," she said, snapping her fingers. "It's a giant Van De Graaff generator. With enough current, it could be capable of..." She knelt down to talk directly to the terrier. 

"Those black marks on Sturgis and Doc Henderson," she said. "They were struck by artificially-created lightning!" In her mind she pictured the garden, with its elaborate iron fencing and lampposts. Perfect grounding points for lightning bolts to be hurled from the highest copper turret of Europa. Her vision expanded to include Steed examining the body of Sturgis, right at the spot where he had fallen. 

"Steed's in the garden," Emma said with growing alarm. "He could be in the kill zone. We have to warn him!" 

The terrier immediately took off, as if it understood every word she was saying. 

The whir inside the wall was rising in pitch as she bolted after him. Loud crackles sounded as she brushed aside the floating sheets that hung in her path. 

"Slow down!" Emma called after the dog as she clattered down the stairs. "Wait!" 

She arrived at the lower landing. The hall and Planetary Parlor were empty. She ran for the patio doors. 

"Steed!" she cried out. 

A strange breeze with an ozone smell wafted past her as she arrived at the garden doors. Emma was at a full run when she took in the nightmarish tableau. 

Through the stone archway, she could see that all of the ironwork in the garden was lit up, tipped with glowing blue halos of Saint Elmo's fire. Steed was standing next to the lamppost that the dog had been digging under the previous day. The terrier was rushing straight at him, barking frantically. Steed arched his eyebrows at the sudden frenzy that had gripped the animal, and he stepped back from the metal light pole just in time. 

A loud crack sounded as a blinding flash split the twilight. A bolt from high above forked out to hit all of the nearby lampposts, with a single stroke transfixing the small dog mid-stride, exactly at the spot where Steed had been standing. 

Emma's shout was desperate over the swirling maelstrom. 

"Spumi!" 

-oOo-


	5. Suspicious Minds

**Chapter 5**

Emma arrived first at the dog's side. The air bore the faint odor of charred fur, and a wisp of smoke coiled up from a denuded spot near its tail. Steed approached her as she solemnly picked up the inert form and held it to her cheek. 

"Why wouldn't he ever obey me," she said quietly. "He was so contrary..." 

Steed gently pressed his hand to her shoulder. Emma's eyes looked moist as she silently cuddled the animal. A broad grin broke out on Steed's face as he saw a pink tongue dart out of the dog's muzzle and warmly lap the side of her face. 

Emma's voice almost broke. "He's alive!" 

"Mrs. Peel, you're crying." 

"I'm not crying," she denied angrily. "It's just... I'm happy that I'll be able to continue his training until he's a proper dog, that's all." 

Steed ruffled the fur on the terrier's neck. 

"At a full run, his paws were probably only in contact with the earth for a fraction of a second," he explained. "His grounding was incomplete, and the bolt must have branched around him, saving him from the full voltage." 

The paralytic daze that had overcome the terrier seemed to have passed. Emma set him back on the ground and he started moving about the garden; unsteadily at first, then more normally. 

Steed had a serious expression on his face as he nodded. "His skills will be more valuable than ever, now." 

She arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" 

"Anyone who survives a lightning strike gains the ability to detect the undetectable, an extra-sensory perception. Combine that with his natural ability as a canine, and he's virtually a walking paranormal dowsing rod." 

Emma sighed with skeptical annoyance. "Let me tell you about those ghosts in the attic..." 

-oOo-

The dog was trotting ahead of Steed and Emma as they descended the stairs to the basement. Soon they were wandering through a maze of corridors, trying to make sense of a map that Emma had hastily sketched on a napkin. 

"Isn't there any room here with four walls?" she said in exasperation. Navigating through the labyrinthine underbelly of Europa was proving a challenge. 

"It's part of Philo's game. He wants his visitors to be disoriented, confused. No ninety-degree angles. It probably makes it easier to hide the secret passages—you'd need an architectural diagram and surveying instruments to determine which walls had extra space between them and the adjoining rooms." 

They had maneuvered their way down to the spot they calculated to be directly in line with the wall in the attic. Before them was a steel-reinforced door bearing the plaque HYPERION. 

"Hyper Ion?" Emma smirked. 

"Perhaps Jupiter has a sense of humor." Steed waited while she picked the lock. 

Inside the room was a large electric motor that turned a cylindrical sprocket. The belt that wrapped around it had holes along the edge, like film in a projector. Steed touched the motor housing; it was still warm. Residual static electricity was keeping a large number of particles suspended in the air. Steed waved them away with his hand. 

"No chance of dusting for fingerprints?" he joked. 

"This is how you make artificial lightning," Emma explained. "The large copper dome on the roof of Europa acts as a giant capacitor. This dielectric belt charges it, and a spark is created between it and the negatively charged lampposts in the garden when the air's breakdown voltage is reached. Anyone who happens to be in that spark gap—" 

"Gets a black mark against him, as we've seen," Steed finished. "Professor Jupiter is aptly named," he declared as he looked at the machinery. "He commands the lightning's hand." 

Emma took the knife she had stolen from the room marked MARS and, with a fair amount of effort, used it to saw through the belt. Then she tugged steadily until a large pile had accumulated on the floor. Just for good measure, she cut it into as many sections as she could before growing tired. 

"It looks as if the generator was part of the structure of the house," she observed. "The only way to replace this belt would be to remove all of the wall panels in a line between here and the attic." 

"Presumably that would take too much time and make too much noise," Steed agreed. "So at least we don't have to worry about any more bolts from the blue." 

Emma wiped some sweat from her brow as she leaned against the motor housing. "Which one do you think is responsible?" she asked. 

"Don't forget 'Ten Little Indians', Mrs. Peel," Steed suggested. " _Two_ of them may be responsible. Especially for the amount of money that's at stake." 

She nodded. "Where are the rest of the—what should we call them, 'Tontinees'?" 

"Or 'victims'," Steed said grimly. "They've locked themselves in their rooms." 

"One can hardly blame them," she observed. "Particularly since they think that we're the killers." 

-oOo-

The butler was serving dinner to Isis Diora and James Fenimore in the first-floor dining room marked HESTIA. Steed and Emma were watching surreptitiously through a circular glass window in the door leading to the kitchen. 

"Can you read anything from them?" Emma asked. 

"Hard to tell," Steed replied. "They look fairly calm for potential murder victims." He suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, " _Pomozte! Poziar!_ " 

Emma was startled at the sudden outburst, but even more so was Isis Diora. She immediately jumped to her feet, her reflexes betraying her. She looked around nervously before sitting back down. 

Emma arched her eyebrow. "What just happened?" she asked. 

"I yelled 'Fire!' in a crowded Balkan theater," Steed explained. "Interesting that our Italian farm girl knows Slovak. She could certainly make a convincing Gypsy fortuneteller, like the one that started the Tontine." 

"Is that all?" Emma responded skeptically. "She could have learned it while filming one of those foreign movies you talked about. Is there any other clue that it could be her?" 

"Only one," Steed said. "She's still alive." He pushed through the door and entered the dining room. Isis looked at him quizzically, Fenimore suspiciously. 

"Did you just shout something?" Fenimore asked. 

Steed smiled pleasantly. "I was calling our dog. It looked like he was trying to raid the larder." Emma had reattached the leash to the terrier, and already it was straining to get away. 

"It sounded like something else," Isis remarked. Fenimore gave Steed a level gaze. 

"I'll make no more pretense, Mr. Charlesworth," he said plainly. "I have a gun. I'm not afraid to use it." 

Isis objected, "But I thought the Charlesworths discovered and dismantled the deathtrap. It was one of Jupiter's devices." 

"All that means is that we know who their employer is," Fenimore countered. 

"Where's Miss Brant?" Steed asked suddenly. 

"She hasn't come down from her room yet," Isis answered. 

Emma frowned. "Don't you think we'd better check?" 

-oOo-

Isis knocked urgently at the door marked AMALTHEA. "Miss Brant?" she called out. "Are you in there?" She twisted the doorknob; it wouldn't budge. 

"Locked from the inside," Fenimore mused. He put his shoulder into the door in an effort to force it open. The attempt failed; the wood was too solid. 

Steed examined the keyhole. "Emma darling?" he said. She unfastened a pin on the waist of her wool skirt and went to work on the lock. 

Isis watched wide-eyed. "How do you know how to pick a lock, Mrs. Charlesworth?" 

"As an accountant, I sometimes need access a second set of books against my client's wishes," Emma answered. There was a click and she swung the door open. 

The Amalthea Suite was exquisitely furnished, as were all the rooms at Europa. It was also quite empty. There was no sign of Nurse Brant. 

Fenimore completed his search of the adjoining bathroom. "There are bars over the windows," he observed. "How could she have gotten out?" 

"Perhaps a secret passage?" Steed offered. He joined Emma in rifling the books on the shelves, looking for any switch or actuating device. Their efforts were fruitless. Isis looked under the bed while Fenimore pulled all of the drawers from the dresser and armoire. 

The four remaining guests spent nearly an hour canvassing the room before coming to the conclusion that there was simply no way for Miss Brant to have exited. Emma tested the lock. She shook her head. 

"The mechanism can only be sprung by turning the bolt from inside," she declared. "Nurse Brant must have been in here when she locked the door." 

"Well, she's not here now," Fenimore said dryly. "I won't bother accusing you two, since you could have already dispatched her before coming down to the dining room. There's only one thing more to do before turning in for the night." He pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Steed and Emma. The terrier gave a warning bark from the chair where Emma had fastened his leash. 

Isis was alarmed. "What are you doing?" she asked. 

"We need to search them both and remove any weapons," he said levelly. 

"We're unarmed," Steed protested gently. 

"Then you have no reason to object," Fenimore countered. He stepped forward and patted Steed down. Satisfied, he turned to Emma. The fire in her eyes was enough to frighten any man. Fenimore looked at Steed, as if asking for permission to search his wife. 

"Please," Steed said with a mischievous smirk as he gestured to Emma. "Be my guest." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth as Fenimore patted the sides of her skirt. She briefly debated a countermove, but Fenimore held the gun carefully, a carryover from his time in Italy during the War. He reached into her pocket and pulled out the knife. 

"And what were you planning to do with this, Mrs. Charlesworth?" 

"I used it to sabotage the lightning generator," she said tersely. "You're welcome, by the way." 

"Then you shouldn't need it any further," Fenimore said smugly as he pocketed the knife himself. "Now I suggest we all barricade ourselves in our rooms until the morning. Tomorrow we'll look for a way across the moat. If we can't find one, I'll order the butler to stand out on the front lawn waving flags until some passerby notices." With that, he left the three of them standing there and headed to his room. 

Isis turned to Steed and pressed against him. "Mr. Charlesworth, I'm so frightened!" 

"I was just waiting until Fenimore left," Steed said conspiratorially. "I don't think you should stay in your room tonight, Miss Diora." 

"Where will I sleep?" she asked. 

"I'll spend the night in your room, lying in wait for the killer. You can stay in Nurse Brant's. It's the last place anyone would think to look, now that she's already missing." 

"But then Mrs. Charlesworth would be defenseless," Isis protested. 

Steed smiled. "She can keep the dog with her, for protection." 

"If you think it's best," Isis reluctantly agreed. 

Steed picked up the terrier in his arms and walked over to where Emma waited. 

"Good night, my dear," he grinned. Steed patted the dog on the head and tapped his finger on its muzzle. "Watch over Sweetest Emma for me," he ordered teasingly. Emma rolled her eyes. Steed abruptly leaned forward to kiss her. 

Emma couldn't conceal her surprise as his lips touched hers. He transferred the dog into her arms as they embraced. Suddenly she realized Steed was pressing something cold and hard into her palm, hiding it with his body so Miss Diora couldn't see. Emma let her fingers play briefly across its surface and recognized it as her 25-caliber Beretta Jetfire mini-pistol. His intrusion into her flat before the trip hadn't been totally without merit. How had he kept it hidden from Fenimore? She suppressed a smile as she fervently returned his tentative kiss with true passion and warmth, swaying her hips as she slipped the weapon into her skirt pocket. 

"Thank you, darling," she said wryly. "I'm sure I'll be well-protected tonight." 

-oOo-

Emma closed and locked the door to the Ariel Suite. She decided that the killer wouldn't strike immediately, but would wait for the retiring guests to be well asleep before making his or her move. This would afford her a few hours of napping before any action was demanded. 

With Steed divorced from the room, she had availed herself of sleeping in only her panties and a camisole. She tried hiding the gun under the pillow next to her, but then she worried it might get caught in the bedding if she needed a quick draw. Emma finally opted to place it on the nightstand, handle towards her, where she could easily snatch and aim it in a fraction of a second. She practiced a few times until she was sure she could execute the maneuver on a moment's notice. 

The dog had stretched out on Steed's side of the bed and fallen immediately into a deep sleep. Emma briefly considered waking the terrier and forcing him onto the floor, but after his busy, death-defying day, she thought he deserved some leniency, just this once. She crawled under the covers and rolled onto her side, facing the nightstand. She pressed her hands between her thighs as she remembered Steed's kiss, and how she had surprised him by escalating it. Soon she drifted off into a pleasant sleep. The terrier had sensed her regular breathing, and it took advantage of her slumber by crawling across the bed and snuggling next to her. 

Neither stirred as a mahogany wall panel slid silently open and a pale hand crept out to snatch the weapon from the nightstand, leaving Emma and the dog defenseless. 

-oOo-

Steed had already decided to stay up all night in Miss Diora's suite, so he shaved and washed up before reclining in bed with a copy of "Death on the Nile." He extinguished all of the lights in the room except a small lamp on the nightstand; he angled the shade to keep his face in shadow. If the killer was going to make an attempt on Isis Diora, Steed had to look convincingly like her through any hidden peepholes. 

After several hours passed uneventfully, Steed started to suspect the killer wouldn't show. Either Fenimore, Jupiter, or even Miss Brant had detected the substitution, or the killer was Diora herself. He grew bored and went to place the book on a shelf in the room. As he moved the bookend aside to make space, he felt an invisible resistance to the movement. He suddenly realized why no one could find a lever or other mechanism to open a secret passage in Nurse Brant's room—the trigger was magnetic. He slid the bookend back and forth across the shelf, and was soon rewarded with a click and humming noise. 

He watched with a cocky grin as a section of the wooden parquet ceiling started lowering, suspended by two steel shafts. Another trick of Jupiter's: the secret passage was directly overhead, in the ceiling. The strange-shaped rooms at Europa so obviously concealed wall passages, it lured one into thinking the only way to enter the passages was through the wall, rather than from above or below. 

Steed stepped on the platform and pressed a green button near one of the shafts. Hydraulic pressure moved him smoothly upwards, into a comfortably tall and wide wall passage in the story above. 

-oOo-

Emma was startled from her slumber by the growling of the terrier. She reflexively reached for the gun on the nightstand, only to find her hand grasping at air. Someone had been in the room. She remained absolutely silent as she listened, but the only sound she could detect was the dog rooting around in the expensive Oriental rug near the bookcase. 

She cautiously crept her hand towards the light switch by the bed. As she flipped it on, she dived and rolled in the opposite direction, coming to her feet in a martial stance with both hands rigid and hard-edged. The room was empty. 

The dog had swept the rug aside and was now digging at the wooden parquet floor. Emma knew better than to dismiss his actions as meaningless; the dog had successfully detected the lightning generator in the attic and the tampered lampposts in the garden. She tried to pry the square upward with her fingernails, but it wouldn't budge. 

Thinking that the trigger mechanism might be in the nearby bookcase, she started moving the books along the shelf. As her hand brushed against a bookend, she felt a strange resisting force. When she tried to move the bookend towards another, she felt a magnetic repulsion. 

Emma grinned. Spinning the bookend around so that it faced the other, the magnetic repulsion became an attraction. The instant the bookends touched, there was a clicking noise, and the section of the floor where the terrier stood started to sink downward. 

She hurried to grab a small battery-powered pocket lamp and jumped onto the lowering platform with the dog. It moved down at least eight feet before coming to rest in a darkened passage, undoubtedly inside a wall on the story below. 

Emma kept the lamp pointed at the floor as she stealthily advanced forward on the balls of her bare feet. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and as she turned a corner, she detected a person in the passage ahead. 

The dog barked a warning as she sprinted forward and launched a waist-high kick at the figure in front of her, expertly aimed for maximum effect should her opponent prove to be male. 

-oOo-


	6. Below Zero

**Chapter 6**

Steed jumped back in the nick of time to avoid the incapacitating kick. Emma's bare foot had missed him by millimeters. The terrier barked a stern reproach at her. 

"Listen to the dog," Steed offered wryly. "It's me." 

"Steed?" she ventured, then added, "Sorry." 

"You need to be more careful if you ever want any little Charlesworths running about the place." 

Emma gave him a knowing smirk. "I've found that if you aim amidships," she declared, "the enemy sinks more quickly. I thought you were Philo. And my gun is missing..." 

He nodded as he stepped forward into the light from her pocket lamp. "You certainly wouldn't have any place to hide it." 

Emma remembered her scant attire, and instinctively moved her free hand to cover up. Steed suppressed a grin. 

"No need to be embarrassed," he said innocently. "We _are_ married." 

"Would you like me to practice one of my kicks again?" 

"No, thanks. I've seen the effect it can have on the baddies. Shall we go back to the bedroom for a robe?" 

Suddenly, the dog gave a frantic yip and started spinning rapidly in circles, as if it were chasing its own tail. The two of them stared wide-eyed at the behavior. 

"He's done that before," Emma remarked. "I think someone's been putting something in his water." 

Steed smiled. "He's just an excitable pup." 

"Maybe we should follow him," she suggested. "So far, he seems to know more about what's going on than we do." 

"I credit the lightning," Steed teased. 

The terrier streaked forward into the darkness. Emma trotted quickly behind, the beam from her light swinging from wall to wall until it suddenly revealed an end to the passage. A narrow spiral staircase wound its way down, and the dog was already clicking down the metal steps. 

Steed brought up the rear as he struggled to keep pace. There were landings with passages at each floor, but Emma and the dog continued downward. As they reached the level of the first floor, dim electric lights appeared on the walls of the stairwell, allowing him to see Emma moving ahead. She had apparently forgotten that although the front of her underwear was sufficiently opaque, the behind was completely sheer, affording him a view of how absolutely _perfect_ her backside had become from her regular martial arts workouts. Chivalry dictated that he was about to suggest they switch positions when they arrived at the bottom of the stair. It was clear they had passed from the upper floors all the way down to the basement—and below. 

They emerged from a panel behind a rack of wine bottles into a darkened space. Emma's beam revealed a light switch on the wall. She flipped it, and the room illuminated with a dim glow. There were footprints on the floor; she instinctively bent over to examine them, leaving her rear exposed. 

"Superb, Mrs. Peel!" 

She suddenly remembered her state of undress. "Steed!" she fired back angrily, turning to confront him. 

Steed wasn't looking at her; he was examining the bottles in the rack. "Latour, Lafite, Haut-Brion," he said blithely. "And here's a Margaux. Jupiter may be a murdering crackpot, but he stocks a great cellar." 

"The operative word is _murderer,_ " Emma chided. "Could you please try to focus on the danger at hand? There are some footprints here." 

"They don't look too fresh," he observed. 

"Still, I think I better lead," she stated. "No telling who's down here." She opened the door slowly, careful to avoid any excessive noise. The sub-basement area outside of the wine cellar was dimly lit with sconces, and Emma set aside her pocket lamp on a nearby shelf. 

Steed followed behind, admiring her well-muscled, bare legs as she moved forward, crouching slightly as she walked, like a stalking cat. Her intense concentration left no room in her mind for an awareness that she was dressed in next-to-nothing. Steed reflected that had she been completely unclothed, she would probably still move in that exact same fashion; some animal instinct had taken over and she could think of nothing but her prey. 

Emma turned sideways and the dim light passed through the thin camisole, revealing the outline of perfectly-formed breasts. Steed's eyes widened slightly in appreciation; meanwhile, she held her finger to her lips for silence. The only noise was the irregular click of the dog's toenails as he moved slowly on his paws ahead of them. 

The terrier led the trail around a corner, coming to an area where the walls were made of stainless steel. The dog suddenly rushed forward, having picked up the scent again, then came to a stop and barked enthusiastically at a thick, vault-like door that bore a plaque with the name PLUTO. 

"Quiet, Spumi!" Emma whispered harshly. The dog fell silent and watched with anticipation as Steed tugged at the handle of the door. Emma had adopted her martial pose again, prepared to attack anything that might come through the opening. 

The door came open with the muffled sucking sound of an airtight gasket. Blue polar light spilled out, along with thick clouds of frosty water vapor. The sudden chill caused Emma to plunge her hands between her thighs protectively and shiver. 

"Shut it!" she commanded. Steed obliged as she added, "It's a superconductive environment in there—low temperatures to decrease electrical resistance. There could be another one of Jupiter's deadly experiments inside." 

"Lightning in a bottle?" Steed offered. 

"Or worse," she affirmed. "If Spumi trailed the scent down here, it means that whoever has been sneaking around in the passageways must be in that room. Probably the killer. Don't you want a weapon before barging in?" 

Steed acted as if he hadn't heard her suggestion. "Now's the time to place your bets," he announced. "Who do you think the killer is?" 

"I'll still go with Jupiter," she mused. "Only he would have sufficient knowledge to adapt the Van De Graaff generator." 

"I can't argue with that," Steed agreed. "So what weapon would be sufficient to confront him?" 

Emma's eyes narrowed with sudden resolution. "Me," she said. 

"You're hardly dressed for the deep freeze," he observed. "Why don't you wait out here while I go inside and have a scout round?" 

"I don't like the idea of you going in there alone," she scolded. "You're unarmed." 

"I'll still have my wits," he grinned. 

"As I said," she teased. "You'll be completely defenseless." 

"If I'm not back in five minutes, come in after me," he declared seriously. 

"Very well. If you encounter anyone at all, flush him out into the warmth here, and I'll take care of him. I'm looking forward to administering some justice." 

Steed smiled. "So I've seen." 

Emma tugged on the handle with one hand while she cupped the other over her lower abdomen. Once again, a blast of arctic air swirled out of the opening as Steed slipped quickly inside. Emma found herself slamming the door after him, reflexively more concerned about freezing to death in her underwear than his immediate safety. 

A few minutes passed, and Emma started to grow concerned. She was about to commence searching the sub-basement for some protection against the cold that would allow her to enter the Pluto Chamber when she heard a scraping at the door. Steed pressed casually through, brushing the frost from his dark curls. 

"Chilly," he said wryly. 

"Is Professor Jupiter in there?" she asked. 

"Yes," Steed said evenly. 

Emma bent over and appreciatively patted the terrier on the head. "Good dog! You tracked the diabolical mastermind to his lair and Steed overpowered him!" 

"It didn't take too much effort on my part to subdue him," Steed replied tonelessly. "He's been dead for at least a week." 

Emma halted her attentions. 

"A week?" she frowned. "He was dead before the Group Captain?" 

"We shall have to modify our thinking," Steed announced. "Someone must have arrived at Europa first, to set up the deathtraps, probably in league with Jupiter. This co-conspirator then does away with Jupiter before killing the Group Captain, which brings the rest of the Tontine here, where they can be eliminated one by one." 

"You think one of the remaining Tontinees is responsible?" Emma asked. 

"Who else could benefit?" Steed remarked. "The missing Beretta could only have been taken by a live person. So it's down to Fenimore, Diora and Brant—assuming her disappearance hasn't coincided with her demise." 

Emma was silent. The cold air from the freezer had caused goose bumps to cover her skin. She pressed her forearm across the flimsy camisole to hide her exposure from Steed. 

"I'm going back for a robe," she sighed in annoyance. "Do you want to take Spumi?" 

He grinned. "No, you keep him with you. He can bark a warning again if you're about to poleaxe another innocent." 

"In this house," Emma countered, "I don't think there are any innocents. You included." 

-oOo-

Emma wound her way back up the stairs and through the passage that led back to the Ariel Suite. The terrier followed at her heels, still agitated. When she arrived at the wooden parquet platform, she picked up the dog in her arms and pressed a green button near one of the steel shafts. The miniature elevator whisked her back upward into the bedroom. 

Outside of the barred windows, the first light of dawn was already approaching. It occurred to her that the day was more likely to bring action than lounging. Rather than retrieving her robe from the wall hook, she instead opened the dresser drawer with her toes and bent over to fish out her leathers. 

Slipping the camisole off over her head so that she was clad only in her panties, Emma stepped into the leather catsuit and zipped it up to her neck. It warmed her quickly, and soon her goose flesh had subsided. The dog watched impatiently as she donned some boots. As soon as she was dressed, he whined at the hallway door. 

She had thought that the terrier wanted a trip out-of-doors; instead, he led her down the corridor towards the disused wing of the house, the one they had searched the day before. 

Emma followed the dog, carefully scanning the hallways for any sign of the other Tontine members. They were either still asleep in their beds, or had already fallen victim—all except for one. 

The terrier came to a stop in front of two opposing rooms, marked PHOBOS and DEIMOS. 

"Fear and dread," Emma said aloud. "Not an auspicious sign." Her leathers squeaked faintly as she squatted next to the terrier, who looked at her with a questioning expression. 

"All right," she said. "You choose." 

Without hesitation, the dog strode forward and scratched on the door marked DEIMOS and turned his head to look back at her. When she turned the knob and opened the door, he immediately dashed inside. 

Emma stepped into a windowless room that was filled with stored boxes. An area was cleared in the center of them, and a single ceiling lamp shone overhead. It cast shadows on a man who was dressed in a costume—a black hooded robe with a rope tied around the waist. He was the Angel of Death. 

The terrier triumphantly pranced in circles around the thin, shrouded figure. Emma couldn't see the face, but she didn't need to. She gave the ghastly form a wan smile. 

"Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe, I presume." 

-oOo-


	7. The Phantom Spectre

**Chapter 7**

The Angel of Death threw back his hood to reveal familiar features. He was over six feet in height. A tall, thin man, just as Emma had remembered. 

"And here I thought you'd be surprised," he began. "How did you figure it out, Mrs. Peel?" 

"'Ten Little Indians'," she said. "There was only one death in the Tontine that could have been faked—and that was yours. I'm assuming that Doctor Henderson took care of your death certificate?" 

"Quite correct. That's why he had to die so quickly. I didn't want him losing his nerves and spilling the whole scheme." 

"Why the costume?" 

"Just in case I'm accidentally seen, so I'll be passed off as 'The Spectre of the Haunted Castle'." He looked down at the dog waiting expectantly at his feet. "I didn't count on you bringing Asti to _Europa._ " 

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Asti?" 

"The dog's name." 

"That's not what Steed called him." 

"His full name is 'Captain's Asti Spumante'. He goes by the middle name. It's the drink we had to celebrate the Tontine. Rather appropriate, don't you think?" 

The terrier started to sense that something was wrong and shuffled back a few steps. The Group Captain smiled. 

"I know you think he's a brilliant detective dog, but he was actually just following in his master's footsteps. Quite literally," Willcombe-Smythe explained. "Everywhere I committed a murder, he was picking up my scent, leading you to the killing ground. That's why I have to dispose of him now. Can't have him leading the police to me wherever I go." He pulled out the stolen Beretta mini-pistol and leveled it at the dog, who merely stared quizzically at his master. 

"Spumi! Run!" Emma shouted. 

For the first time, the terrier instantly obeyed her command, darting for the door behind her. The Group Captain took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. 

The handle of an umbrella had hooked his wrist and spoiled the shot, but Willcombe-Smythe still retained his hold on the weapon. He quickly disentangled himself and pointed the Beretta at his attacker. 

"Careful, Major Steed. I don't want to kill you—not yet, at any rate." 

Steed had entered from a side door just in time to save the dog—even more, he was now causing the gunman to split his attention between two targets. Mrs. Peel tried to increase the distance between them, moving stealthily and catlike in her black leather. Steed gave her a knowing glance—a subtle signal to coordinate their attack. 

"Where's Miss Brant?" Emma demanded. 

Willcombe-Smythe smiled. "Safely tucked away, just in case I need a hostage before I'm done." 

"Take me," Steed offered. 

"With all due respect, Major, you were never personal friends with Attlee and Churchill. And everyone expects Ministry agents to give their life in the line of duty. But a pretty woman, and a nurse—well, no one would want to risk her death." 

The Group Captain suddenly fired the gun, aiming just to the left of Steed's foot. "I'm familiar with the manual, Major—I helped write it. Would you please move over to join Mrs. Peel, standing at her side? That's it, just like a wedding." The terrier had sneaked back into the room, and poked his head out between their legs, using them for cover as he glared at the master that had turned against him. 

Emma leaned her head next to Steed's as she lightly touched his arm. "How did you know I was in trouble?" 

"One of us always seems to be," he said wryly. "When it wasn't me, I figured it must be your turn. I was tailing you through the passage and the hallways." 

An odd smile touched the Group Captain's face. "What a portrait of a happy couple and their dog!" he said grandly. "I wonder if Peter would be pleased at how close you two have become." 

Emma bristled at the insinuation. 

"Just one question," Steed changed the subject. "Why the Tontine?" 

"Back then, I could see Philo was a genius. I knew he would be worth millions someday. When I learned I was going to pull through after the crash, I convinced the cleaning woman at the hospital to pretend to be a Gypsy. The others were all greedy for success. They thought that I, the brave young pilot with a wealthy inheritance who was sure to be shot down, would be their meal ticket. But I had already spent my inheritance and was heavily in debt from gambling, so I knew it would be the other way around. Particularly if I hastened their departure off this mortal coil." 

"Like Zeus, hurling lightning-bolts?" Emma accused. 

"It was Philo's idea. He wanted to power all the lights in the garden without wires. We just made a few modifications to the base current, and voilà—made-to-order lightning." 

"And then you killed him," she charged. 

"Greed is a strong motivator, Mrs. Peel. I approached Henderson, Jupiter, and Sturgis—all separately. I made a plan with each one to fake my own death; in return, each would help me eliminate all the others in the Tontine, and then we'd split the inheritance fifty-fifty. Of course, once everything was in place, the three of them had to be the first to go." 

Emma frowned. The depths of the Group Captain's treachery were startling. That a man she had known for so long could be so false, without her having detected it. Could she really be that easily fooled? 

"I always judged you to be a man of principle rather than a slave to wealth," she remarked sadly. 

"And so I am. It just happens that my principles stand in opposition to yours and the Major's," Willcombe-Smythe stated. "Politically speaking, I owe my allegiance to an Eastern organization which pays me quite well." 

"Now I understand," Steed observed quietly. "You work for the KGB. You're a spy—a double-agent." 

"Yes. At the time, I reasoned two incomes were better than one. Particularly since I controlled the payroll of our KGB agents in England." 

Emma looked puzzled. "Even while you were commanding Peter?" she asked. "What does that have to do with the Tontine?" 

The Group Captain was silent. Steed answered for him. 

"Haven't you ever read Ian Fleming's _Casino Royale,_ Mrs. Peel? The story of an operative named _Le Chiffre_ who foolishly gambles away a good chunk of the KGB's bankroll, then has to enter a high-stakes game of baccarat to win it back before his employers realize it and kill him." Steed stared levelly at the traitor. "But why play baccarat when you have your very own Tontine?" 

Willcombe-Smythe nodded. 

"You're very astute, Steed. Yes, I did start using the KGB's money. Sturgis helped me launder it through his banks. But give me some credit. I didn't gamble it all away—not directly." A gunshot echoed loudly through the room as the Group Captain fired at the foot that Emma had slowly been inching forward. She pulled it back quickly, and he continued as if nothing had happened. 

"I used the KGB's resources to secretly underwrite the members of the Tontine," he explained. "After all, the more they were worth, the more I would get once they were eliminated. As investments go, I could hardly lose. You know, I actually had to bribe the producer to get Isis her first movie role. And that explosion at the largest competing polio vaccine manufacturer—no coincidence, I assure you. In a sense, I made them all what they are today." 

"Victims," Emma said tonelessly. "How much do you owe the KGB accounts?" 

"Five million pounds should just about square it, leaving plenty left over for me to drop out of sight." 

"But why make us the executors?" she asked. "It just increased the likelihood of us discovering your scheme. For what reason could you want Steed around?" 

The Group Captain remained silent. Steed looked thoughtful for a moment, then once again answered for him. 

"Insurance. In case the KGB showed up earlier than he expected. I'm the one person he thinks can take him into protective custody and grant him asylum if the KGB killers start shooting," Steed reasoned. "But he made one mistake. He has nothing that Her Majesty's Government wants. He's a double agent, and a traitor to both sides." 

Willcombe-Smythe smiled. "You're wrong, Major. I do have something to trade. I know the identity of the KGB's other double agent, The Ladja." 

Emma's eyes lit up with fire at the mention of her nemesis. Steed glanced sideways and noticed her body was tensing for action in the tight black leather. She took a step forward and planted her feet defiantly apart as she faced the barrel of her own Beretta. 

"What do you know about The Ladja?" she said evenly. 

-oOo-

Outside, on the other bank of the moat, a figure was climbing a large tree. He slipped once, cursed, then found a suitable perch on a stable branch. He unslung the sniper rifle from his shoulder and, aiming it at the mansion, peered through the massive scope. 

Things hadn't gone as well as he hoped since he staged the crash in the Amazon. Peter Peel, born Pyotr Pehlovich, had been assigned by the KGB to marry Emma Knight. When his cover had been penetrated by someone in the upper echelon of the Ministry, it had become necessary for Pehlovich to fake his own death and say goodbye to his life with Emma. 

If only it had been that simple. The instant he had started working for the KGB under the code name 'The Ladja', the Ministry had promptly maneuvered his wife into working with their top troubleshooter, a man named John Steed. Pehlovich frowned at the thought. Just as the Ministry predicted, Emma's presence was constantly throwing a spanner into his operations, and his balance sheet with the KGB was now running half and half between successes and failures. 

As a result, he had occasionally been reduced to these lowest quality jobs: simple assassinations. But this one had special attraction for him. The target was his co-conspirator, and the man who had recruited him—his commanding officer. 

John Steed must be here. Pyotr had seen the familiar Bentley parked out front, on the other side of the moat. Was Emma with him? More than likely. Things could get very complicated if he was forced to enter the mansion and perform the execution in person. 

Pehlovich smiled at the sight that greeted him through the scope. Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe was clearly visible through one of the first floor windows. It might not be necessary to enter Europa after all. 

"You always did have a taste for gambling, Group Captain," Pyotr chided the figure between his crosshairs as he flipped the safety off on his rifle. "But you gambled too far when you stole from your employers." Pehlovich flinched in surprise when he saw the head of John Steed briefly become visible in the room. 

"Now, what could you possibly be saying to that Ministry agent, my Captain?" Pyotr commented. "Bartering for your life, no doubt. With my identity, perhaps?" He made a final check of the wind prior to firing. The torso of his commanding officer was now centered in the scope. 

"Do not debase yourself by confiding in Steed, Group Captain," The Ladja said aloud as he aimed. "He does not have the heart for true espionage, like you and I." 

-oOo-

"You forget I am holding the gun, Mrs. Peel," Willcombe-Smythe warned her as she boldly stepped forward. "Once I've eliminated you and Steed, I then kill the remaining three members of the Tontine. The police are convinced that Philo was the murderer, and I return from the dead to collect my inheritance." 

"No one's going to believe that," she countered. 

The Group Captain feigned an innocent expression as he practiced his story. "As it turns out, it was some thief who crashed and burned in my car while stealing it," he proclaimed. "Thank goodness he didn't take me along as a hostage." 

"If you're going to kill us anyway," Emma said, inching forward imperceptibly, "at least tell us who The Ladja is before we go." 

A sinister grin crossed Willcombe-Smythe's face. "You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you." 

There was a sudden tinkle of glass as the Group Captain's eyes rolled back into his head. A wet, red stain appeared on his chest, soaking through the black cape. Steed rushed forward to the fallen traitor's side. 

-oOo-

_Now is my chance,_ Pyotr thought, _to kill Steed once and for all. Then I reappear, claiming to have survived the Amazon. Emma comes away with me, and we live happily ever after in some remote corner of the world, where neither MI6 nor the KGB can find us._

Because Steed was now kneeling at the Group Captain's side, it would have to be a head shot. Pehlovich centered the dark hair in the middle of his sights. 

A sudden change in the hair color caused him to release the trigger with a startled gasp. Auburn! Emma had stepped in the line of fire! 

Pehlovich frowned as he watched her through the scope. She was dressed in that skin-tight leather suit that she always wore around Steed, the one that wantonly outlined every curve and sexual detail of her body. Not that it mattered, since they were probably bedmates by now, anyway. Once again, Pyotr found himself contemplating with relish the idea of Steed's death. 

-oOo-

Emma stared out the window. There was a figure in a tree distant, undoubtedly the sniper. Giving chase was impossible with the bridge out. She turned to Steed, who was trying to use his handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from the Group Captain's chest. 

"Is he going to make it?" she asked. 

Steed answered levelly, "Go get some first-aid supplies, Mrs. Peel." 

Emma started to object, then ran down the hall. While searching the day before, she remembered seeing a medical storage room behind a door marked MERCURY. While she couldn't bring the sniper to justice, it would still be worth it if she could save the Group Captain's life to identify The Ladja. 

-oOo-

The tall, thin man was losing blood at a rapid rate; the bullet must have passed very near to his heart. He gestured for Steed to come closer. 

"I'm dying, Major. There's something I want to tell you before I go." 

Steed leaned in. The Group Captain's breathing became shallow, barely sufficient to make sound when it passed through his throat. 

"Peel... is... a traitor." 

Willcombe-Smythe suddenly ceased moving, as if this last revelation had drained him of his remaining life force. Steed touched his fingers to the man's neck. There was no pulse. The thin spy was dead. 

"Mrs. Peel? A traitor?" Steed said aloud. 

Impossible—Sir Gerald had surely run a security check on her; it was the Ministry's suggestion that he use her for situations just such as these. The Group Captain must have said it from spite as he was dying. What a cruel, vindictive thing to do. But he hadn't known the man for twenty years; his lust for gambling and his callousness for human life must have twisted him into a sociopath. 

Mrs. Peel rushed into the room with a first-aid kit and a roll of gauze, but it was immediately clear that it was too late for either of these. Her attention was drawn back to the window, towards the lone figure sprinting away on the other side of the moat. 

"Recognize him?" Steed said as he pulled up next to her. 

"Yes," she said with utter conviction. "That's him. That's The Ladja." 

"How do you know?" 

"After our previous encounters, everything about him seems familiar to me now. The way he moves, the silhouette of his body. I bet even without that chessboard mask he wears, I could pick him out of a line-up," Emma claimed. "Did the Group Captain say anything?" 

Steed hesitated before shaking his head. Emma frowned. 

"Just as we were about to learn The Ladja's identity," she lamented. 

"Perhaps," Steed said. "Or maybe it was a bluff all along." 

-oOo-

After Mary Brant was discovered and released, the remnants of the Tontine gathered in the Planetary Parlor. It was agreed that the next order of business was to fetch help back to Europa. While the others waited, Steed and Emma searched the entire property. They eventually found a small wooden boat in a utility shed adjacent to the house. It was in this boat that the two of them were now crossing the moat. 

Steed wore wool slacks and a black sweater as he pulled at the oars in the cool mid-morning air. Across from him, Mrs. Peel was exquisite in her soft, black leather—it was tight across all of the interesting places and wrinkly in the even more interesting ones. Ordinarily, he would have gotten her to do a share of the rowing, or even tricked her into doing it all herself; but she had volunteered to lead the free climb up the steep escarpment on the other side, and she would need her strength. The dog stood alertly in the prow, ostensibly scanning the water for any hazards. 

"Asti is a ridiculous name," Emma announced. "I'm going to continue to call him Spumi." 

"At least we saved him from Willcombe-Smythe," Steed observed. "The Group Captain was beyond saving." 

She set her mouth into a firm line. "Why is it that everywhere we turn, The Ladja is there?" she asked angrily. "I thought you said he was sent to Siberia." 

"The KGB must have brought him back, just to be a thorn in our sides." 

Emma narrowed her eyes to slits. "When I see him, I'm going to kick him. Hard. Repeatedly." She gave a knowing smirk. "In a spot that will interfere with his walking abilities." 

Steed grinned. "You've done that every time you've met." 

"And yet it still hasn't been enough to satisfy me," she bristled. 

"We did manage to uncover a traitor," Steed offered, "and saved the lives of three members of the Tontine." 

"I suppose there's that," Emma conceded. Nevertheless, her thighs were tensing up in the leather, as if she was already anticipating the next encounter with her nemesis. 

When they reached the other side, Steed held the boat steady as Emma stepped onto the rocky shore. She immediately began preparing for the climb, stowing the terrier in a knapsack and slinging it across her back. 

"You're climbing with the dog?" Steed asked doubtfully. "Won't that unbalance you?" 

"I'm not going to risk hauling him up on the end of a rope and having him fall," she stated. 

"But carrying him with you only increases the chance of you both plummeting to your death." 

"Then if we go, we go together," she said resolutely. The flap of the knapsack was open just enough for the dog to extend his neck all the way out, and when she turned to face Steed, it looked as if she had acquired a second canine head on her right shoulder. 

"Good luck, Mrs. Peel," Steed said warmly. 

Emma started moving up the near-vertical rock face, often having to cover a large distance horizontally in order to make any progress upward. The dog was contributing to the climb as well, growling a critique whenever she reached for a handhold he deemed unsuitable. Steed moved along the bank beneath her, his heart jumping into his throat every time a hand or foothold gave way. Mrs. Peel always recovered miraculously, sometimes earning a triumphant bark from her passenger. 

The climb was grueling. If not for the leather, she would have been terribly scraped and raw. But inevitably, she grasped the root of a tree at the top of the cliff face and pulled herself up over the edge. Seconds later, a rope was snaking down the escarpment to where Steed was waiting. 

As he quickly worked his way up the side of moat, Steed felt a momentary touch of vertigo as he looked down at the ravine below him. He reinforced his grip on the rope. It would be so easy for Mrs. Peel to cut it, plunging him to his death. But then, she could have killed him a hundred times over in the past few months, if that had been her plan. When he reached the top, she pulled him up with a firm grip to stand on the grassy bank beside her. 

Steed looked earnestly into her eyes. "I trust you, Mrs. Peel," he said simply. 

Emma started to say something flippant until she looked back into his eyes, saw his seriousness. 

"A strange thing to say," she commented. 

For a moment, he considered telling her of the Group Captain's deathbed confession. Then he decided it could serve no purpose, apart from aggravating her more. She was already dismayed with her inability to bring The Ladja to justice; there was no point adding fuel to the fire. He placed his hand on her shoulder. She made no attempt to move it. 

"I can't think of a soul who I would be more willing to trust with my life," he added matter-of-factly. 

"It's good to be trusted," Emma ventured. Steed's admission had brought a smile to her face. 

She moved closer, her body clearly excited by this nearness. He slid his hand from her shoulder down to her waist. For a moment, he fantasized about hooking his finger through the loop on her zipper, tugging it down so that the soft black leather parted to reveal her perfect athletic form. She would step forth and offer herself up to him, like Venus from the waves... 

The dog barked a shrill interruption, urgently demanding attention. He sat looking at them both, his tongue hanging out in thirst. 

"I've got a canteen," Emma declared as she reached back into the knapsack, oblivious to Steed's amorous flights of fancy. He obliged by leaning over and cupping his hands as she poured some water into them, and the dog nosed in to lap it up greedily. 

After they had all satisfied their thirsts, Steed was drying his hands on the edge of his sweater. He looked down at the troublesome terrier. 

"Now what do we do with the Little—" 

"Steed!" she exclaimed, covering the dog's ears with her hands. 

"—Clue-sniffer," he finished with a grin. 

Emma gave him a smug look. "I'll have to keep training him, at least until he's a proper dog. Then we can give him to Rita and Marina out in Swansea. He can be the Official Spy School Dog." 

"But you heard what the Group Captain said," Steed countered. "He's not really useful as a detective dog, unless the bad guy happens to be his master." 

"I don't believe Spumi's sleuthing abilities are that simple to explain," she deadpanned. "I've become convinced that you were right. His brush with death has given him the second sight." 

He arched an eyebrow. "Are you ridiculing me?" 

"Steed, that was almost clairvoyant," she teased with a smile. "Are you sure you've never been struck by lightning?" 

"Only when I met you, Mrs. Peel," Steed grinned. "Only when I met you." 

-oOo-


End file.
